In the tropics the sun sets rapidly, and already the reef was darkened by the shadows of the two islands between which it lay. Their rocks were black as marble; but the sea, and all the surf between them, were white as milk by the reflection of the snowy clouds on which the rising moon was shining.
The whole scene of the silent and waterlogged wreck was solemn and impressive; and a gloomy horror was added to it by the ghastly remains of the dead man, which hung and were washed to and fro alongside, head downward, from the fore-channel—swaying with a gurgling sound, as if he was essaying to rise from the water.
Shudderingly I turned away, and wading through the surf, clambered over the piles of slippery and weedy boulders, to regain the higher portion of the Island of Alphonso.
As I ascended, the voice of Antonio, now somewhat cracked and wavering, reached me, as he put his head above the booby-hatch, and sung a Spanish ditty, one verse of which ran thus:
"Companero, companero,
She is gone that ruled my heart!
Companero, companero,
That was sorrow's deepest smart.
But companero, companero,
Here's the bota, drink your fill;
For companero, companero,
Wine's the cure for every ill!"
At this point of his song he suddenly vanished. Probably his foot slipped, and if so, he would fall souse into the water, which flooded all the cabin and companion-way. If stunned by the fall, or stupefied by the rum of which he had partaken so freely, he might lie there and drown.
But what was the fate of such a wretch to me? If I returned on board, could I save him? No; it was more than probable that in his intoxication he would assail me, and I might perish by his hand; so leaving the Cubano to his fate, I continued my ascent, until I reached the banana thicket, where my little hiding-place lay. There I placed the sword I had found beside me for security, and coiling myself up on my bed of dry leaves, strove to sleep, and dream of deliverance and of home. But the idea of Antonio perishing there in the wreck haunted me, and kept me long miserable and awake.
CHAPTER XLII.
THE OLD SPANISH BOOK.
Next morning my doubts about Antonio were dispelled, when, from my place of concealment (which was on the brow of a wooded rock), I heard him shouting for me; and once or twice I obtained a glimpse of him, stumbling about as if intoxicated, with the box of case-bottles slung over his back in a Manilla rope.